Itsy
Itsy could not explore enough outside of the city. The streets were always so wet and grubby… And the SMELL! You couldn’t even catch a decent meal within those walls. No, catching his own prey and moving freely in the natural terrain offered by the forests around Falport were a much better way to go. Training with Mother Maggie gave him a lot of skills, for sure, but none of the other orphans could climb a tree as fast as he could, and even as one of the younger students, he could outrun all of the other orphans through any bramble or brushland. The one drawback was all the jokes the other kids would make about Itsy basically being a wild animal. They were wrong, of course, but one thing they were right about is that he preferred the company of all the animals of the wilderness to most of theirs.
One day, Itsy found a tower, abandoned, as he explored some new woodlands west of the city. It wasn’t big and grandiose like the towers from old stories about Fellport or Freeport or whatever that Mother Maggie would tell, but it was still kinda big. He snuck in. It was dark, but Itsy could see just fine by the light that slipped through cracks in the door. He saw a lot of strange art. Grotesque art. Nothing that should exist in this world. Ever! And doing terrible things to people and animals alike! It made the fur on his back stand and his ears push back on his skull.
Just then, Itsy heard footsteps approaching the tower door. Quickly, he ducked behind some shelves, tucked into a corner where no light reached, and waited. He saw a cloaked person open the door and enter, the door swinging mostly shut again behind him. He paused in the doorway and removed the hood of his cloak, releasing a sigh as if in relief. His long hair covered much of his face from Itsy’s view, but his skin was dark. He looked around, honed in on a shelf across the room, and went to it. There he searched and took one book. He tucked the book into a satchel and approached the door. He paused once more, looking at where Itsy had stood when he saw the wall art; the long-settled dust and dirt had been disturbed. Itsy held his breath. The strange man turned back to the door, re-cloaked himself, and quickly left. That was how Itsy noticed the books on those shelves. Beneath all the art on the walls were so many old dusty books. Most of them were written in Common (which Itsy could, well, mostly read), but in a strange language. Over the next three years, Itsy would learn what these books said and would read them, learning about the Savior of Fellport and his ilk, and of the unnatural terror the presence of his kind brings to normal people and to nature. He still hasn’t figured out what the strange man came there for, but he knows it’s related to these horrors, and he knows he has to stop them!
One day, Itsy found a tower, abandoned, as he explored some new woodlands west of the city. It wasn’t big and grandiose like the towers from old stories about Fellport or Freeport or whatever that Mother Maggie would tell, but it was still kinda big. He snuck in. It was dark, but Itsy could see just fine by the light that slipped through cracks in the door. He saw a lot of strange art. Grotesque art. Nothing that should exist in this world. Ever! And doing terrible things to people and animals alike! It made the fur on his back stand and his ears push back on his skull.
Just then, Itsy heard footsteps approaching the tower door. Quickly, he ducked behind some shelves, tucked into a corner where no light reached, and waited. He saw a cloaked person open the door and enter, the door swinging mostly shut again behind him. He paused in the doorway and removed the hood of his cloak, releasing a sigh as if in relief. His long hair covered much of his face from Itsy’s view, but his skin was dark. He looked around, honed in on a shelf across the room, and went to it. There he searched and took one book. He tucked the book into a satchel and approached the door. He paused once more, looking at where Itsy had stood when he saw the wall art; the long-settled dust and dirt had been disturbed. Itsy held his breath. The strange man turned back to the door, re-cloaked himself, and quickly left. That was how Itsy noticed the books on those shelves. Beneath all the art on the walls were so many old dusty books. Most of them were written in Common (which Itsy could, well, mostly read), but in a strange language. Over the next three years, Itsy would learn what these books said and would read them, learning about the Savior of Fellport and his ilk, and of the unnatural terror the presence of his kind brings to normal people and to nature. He still hasn’t figured out what the strange man came there for, but he knows it’s related to these horrors, and he knows he has to stop them!
Species
Children
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